Chasing Fireflies
by BITcHnoO
Summary: Ms. Naminé Strife is great at being twenty six. Strong and independent, she is, but she would never admit to herself that she is maybe a bit lonely. A boy, she thought she would never see again, walks back into her life with a bouquet of flowers. And well, it does sound kinda romantic unless you cross out the fact that she used to change his diapers.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm starting another story. Oh shoot.**

 **Well this one's a bit on the romantic and cheesy side. A bit light if you tell me. The idea of it all was funny to me, and I thought why not.**

 **Here's my romantic and disgustingly sweet side, instead of the usual cold dark grey me.**

Roxas will always be my little brother. That's what I told him ever since I was first assigned to him.

He was around five years of age when I began to take care of him, and I was around eleven years old. I was the old maid's daughter. I seldom went with my mother to help around the house during the weekends. But when my father died (God bless his soul), things changed rather quickly. I was forced to quit school, in order for ends to meet. When you have at least five younger siblings, being the eldest, I had to take responsibility.

Sometimes I ask myself, why?

Why couldn't be born in some noble family, instead to a poor and uneducated couple, who has more kids than they can handle?

Well, I'd like to think that we don't pick our stories, or our beginnings. I am my own writer of my story, and I make my own chapters. I just have to make do with what I have, even if it's rather unappealing to most people.

I huff the hair that covers my eyes in annoyance. Taking care of an eight-year-old little boy is hard work. Especially if said boy was bawling his eyes out, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

Tears streamed down his blotchy cheeks, dirt decorated his nose, and a nasty looking scratch was on his knee. Overalls hiked up to his thigh. The swing moved with his every movement; legs kicking erratically, and arms flailing around.

"I told you to stop moving Roxy," I say, wiping the wound with a washcloth.

"Y-you told me it wouldn't hur-hur-hurt!" He blubbers, wiping his nose with a sleeve. "Liar, liar! Pants on fire!"

"I wasn't lying," I say trying to calm him down. "Remember what I told you?"

"No!" He yells.

I refrain from sighing. I move the collar of my shirt, revealing a puckering old scar, his eyes widens into saucers, mouth gaping.

"That's old scar!" He says, "The one with the knife!"

"Well, remember I said that it hurt very very much?"

"Yeah!"

I grab his small hand, placing it gently onto it. His fingers trace it, scratching slightly. "While I waited for me mama, I told myself 'it doesn't hurt'. Kinda like trickin' my brain you know."

"That's stupid Nami," He crosses his arms, his lisp evident. It sounded more like 'thupid'. "You can't trick you brain, or else that means you're an idiot."

"An idiot? Why you!" I hiss, ready to smack the back of his head, "I was just saying the all yous gotta do is to put your mind over the matter."

"Mind over matter?" He echoes, not quite getting. His eyebrows scrunched together, forming a 'C' shape. I watch amusedly at the gears running in his head. "I dun get it."

"Well, pain is a temporary feeling I mean, kinda like putting layers of chocolate over pickles so you don't get the yucky taste." _Or the vitamins,_ I think as I recall one episode of a very stubborn Roxas not wanting to take his medicine. "What yous tasting is the chocolate, instead of the pickles. You focus only on the chocolate and not the pickle, get it?" I hoped.

"Oh, yeah!" He says, nodding his head. Then he narrows his eyes, at me. Dark blue eyes hidden in his eyelids. "Have you been puttin' pickles on my chocolate?"

"No sirree." I say, poking his nose, "I couldn't do that to you." I smile.

"Okaaaay," He says, not totally convinced. "Ah ha! So if you don't mind it, it don't matter, right?"

I beam at him, "Yes exactly, you are a smart little boy, ya know? I swear by the time you end your school days, you could be smarter than me." I compliment him.

His lips stretch into a toothy grin, corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm already smarter than you, Nami."

I slapped his shin, where the wrapped bandage was. He howls as he feels the pain shoot up to his thigh. Clutching his leg, and he whimpers softly, "Since when you wrap that?"

"While I was making my point, Ya see know? Mind over matter."

He wrinkles his nose at me, pouting his lips. I thought he was so unbearably cute sometimes, that I had to give him a tight hug. "Poor Roxy. My little baby." I kiss his temples, and his cheeks, and his nose.

He thrashed harshly under my grip, head wriggling uncomfortably, "I'm not your baby! I'm eight!"

"Oh, so you're man?" I ask, smiling at him.

"Yeah!" He thumps his chest, jutting out awkwardly. "I'm a man, not a baby."

"Well, I guess you could be my little brother." I supply.

"Eh," He says, shrugging, "Well, I don't know, I guess that's fine."

"You don't seem so excited."

He swings back and forth, legs barely grazing the dirt. He glances at me, a red tint on his cheeks, "Well, cause, everyone thinks I'm just little. Papa says when I grow up I gots to marry a pretty girl, and how could someone like little me?"

I snort at him. He's way too young to talk about marriage. I pinch his cheeks, he swats it away, "Hmm, you're right. You're really little for your age."

"You don't have to rub it in." He grumbles.

I hug him closer, treading my fingers into his messy locks, "Well, someone's gotta have to like you for who you are. The outside doesn't matter, only the inside."

"The only girl who likes me is you," He points out. "Does that mean you have to marry me?" he shudders.

"Pft, dream on, kid." I laugh. I imagine an older Roxas holding a bouquet of flowers to a young woman, and kissing in an alter. I sigh, as I bid him goodbye for his new life. I sniffle slightly, and I cough afterwards to disguise it.

"Well, I don't know Nami. It seems like no one will really like me for who I am," He sulks, then glances at me, "You call me a brat all the time. Ma doesn't even care about me, and pa is barely at home."

I wince at his tone. I couldn't blame him. Mrs. Highwind was suffering Postpartum depression, and it was taking a huge toll on the family. One time, I had found Roxas lying outside on the steps, shivering and sneezing. His lips were a deathly blue, and his fingers were numb. He had told me his mother had accidentally locked him out.

"Well, I accept then." I say, rubbing his shoulder.

"Huh?"

"If you can't find a girl, then you could always turn to me." I joke, "Which I highly doubt anyways, you're gonna find a girl who's gonna tolerate you. That Xion girl from down the street seems nice, pretty cute too."

"Eh, her?" He gags.

"Roxas, she's sweet."

Using his real name meant I was serious, "Well, too sweet. Like I'd get diabetes."

I direct into the house, scolding him along the way.

That was twelve years ago.

.

.

.

I deposited all the paintbrushes into a jar. Then I proceed to mop the floor, dyeing it in all sorts of colors. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. As begin to organize the different sets of paint into the shelf, I felt the bell in front ringing.

I felt a twinge of annoyance enter. Was this person an idiot? The shop was obviously closed. The big red sign on front was hard evidence for that. I glance behind me, seeing a pair of black shoes. I just mopped that! Inwardly groaning, I plastered a smile into my face as I turned to face him fully.

"Sir, I'm sorry we're closed today, you could come back…" My voice died down, as I faced a tall and handsome man. I gaped slightly at the sight. Blonde hair almost covered his eyes, and a suit was tailored to perfection, and eyes bluer than any ocean caught my attention. A crooked smile was on him. He holds a bouquet of lilies.

I must be dreaming.

I pinch at my skin, and I blinked. He was still here.

"Uhm," I say, "Hello."

"Hi," He responds, lips curling. " _Naminé_."

I choke a bit as he says my name. It sounded so…weird. I gather enough courage to speak, "Do I know you, sir?"

He looked baffled, almost offended. "You makin' formalities for me now, Naminé? Why, I thought you'd never forget me."

Red tinted my cheeks. Oh Lord. Did…I sleep with him? "Have we met before…during a bar, perhaps?" I squeak out.

His eyes widened, and he laughed. I felt rage creeping into me. Great, it was one of those loud booming laugher. "Is there a problem? Look, if you looking for another lay, I'm interested, mister. I'm quite busy."

"I can see that," He glances on the mop in my hands. He chuckles softly, swiping a hand into his hair. "I know I grew up a bit, but I don't think I look quite different,"

"I really don't know you." I say, inching towards the counter.

He takes a step forward, almost trapping me, his face is way too close, and I feel his breath on me. Mint and cigarettes. "Take a good look."

I comply hesitatingly, staring at him, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. My eyes fixates on the scar under his eyes, the tiny freckles decorating his nose, and the strong piercing blue that seemed be like endless pools of water. He bites his lip, and his gaze goes unfocused, he leans into me, whispering into my ear. " _Nami..."_

 _"Let's play, Nami!"_

My hands fly into his chest, pushing him back. Blood goes up into my head, my hand covers my mouth, while the other steadies the heart thumping against my rib cage.

"Roxy?"

He smirks crookedly, handing me the lilies, and my hands are limp as I hold on to it.

"In the flesh, Nami,"

I glance at the card on the flowers, and my eyes go wide.

ROXAS HIGHWIND

ATTORNEY AT LAW.

…

aw, fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**_please be mindful of the timelines._**

 ** _Plus, I would like to just add a tinsy little thing, even if you guys don't have to. Um, younger Roxas and Nami speak in southern accents, kinda like an old missouri accent. WHICH I CAN'T GET OUT OF MY HEAD. Guys go watch The Help or read TKAM, it's a huge inspiration for this story._**

 _Before_

Damn it! Damn it all to hell!

I could almost feel my father slapping my face as he goes on to another tirade of 'ladies shouldn't swear!'

I'm sorry papa for swearing, but I remember you telling me that I could swear when I felt my most provoked. And certainly this was my most provoked.

My room was a mess, it looked like a hurricane went forward and back, destroying every little bit. But the thing was I made it, and this wasn't the disaster that seemed to plague my mind.

I pat my bed for the millionth time, checking the pillow over and over, and even crawled under the tiny space underneath my bed. I resisted the urge to scream and punch the wall. The head maid or I would like to call, head bitch in charge, Larxene would seriously whoop my ass if I even bothered to make a single sound.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. My sketchbook was gone!

If I weren't spending my days taking care of Roxas or sleeping, I'd be drawing away in my sketchbook. It was a Christmas present my father gave me, and it was special. Although it was and ratty and old, and some of papers were a sickly yellow color, my father sacrificed a lot of time and money from his fishing to buy it.

I sat on my bed, thinking of possible places beyond my room to find. Oh my Lord, What if Larxene had found it? I would be lynched for my life!

My eyes began to burn, the familiar uncomfortable feeling that seemed to creep up to me these past few days. I looked on to the floor, and my eyes blinked, a single droplet falling onto a small picture.

It was my old class photo before all this happened. The picture was dark and grey, but it captured all our smiles perfectly. Thinking about what could have been seriously exhausts me, and irritates me some more. I bet my classmates are learning something useful like chemistry, or biology while I was her learning the basics of taming a ten-year-old boy.

I place the photo carefully into my dresser, hiding under all my clothes, which weren't much. I've never worn pretty dresses. They weren't in family budget. I only had three white dresses that probably were just bed sheets that no one wanted anymore.

Giggling was heard, or muffled. My ears picked up on someone trying to restrain his fits. I narrow my eyes, slowly leaving the room, and walking down the hallway, my feet padded silently. As the laughter became cleared, I poked my head into a corner.

Lo and behold, there was Roxas.

Watching every sketch. Every page.

There was a ripped and crumpled page on the ground, but even with all the tears, I could make out what it was. Or who it was. It was the guy I liked in school.

Heat erupted in my face, and I swear I felt smoke coming off my ears. I walked down, and I felt the devil on my back, whispering me inhumanly things I could do to Roxas.

I swiped the sketchbook from his grasp, and he laughed harder when he saw my face. His face began to redden as he laughed harder, and a nerve popped out of my forehead.

I grab his wrist, hauling him off the floor. I drag him into a maze of hallways. Sensing my lack of response, he began to fidget with my grip.

"Nami?" He asks, "Wha—"

I didn't bother to look at him, "It's time for bed, Roxas."

"But, it's not even nine o'clock yet." He protests. "Nam—"

"I said it's time for bed, so shut up." I hiss.

Which he did.

He was silent as I wash his body, and dress him in his pajamas. When I tucked him to bed, I began to leave.

"Nami?" He whispers, barely audibly.

I turn my head slightly, waiting for his request.

"Aren't you supposed to read me a story or kiss me goodnight?" He whimpers, " or wait for me to fall asleep."

I waited a moment, and I clicked the light off, "Don't you think you're too old for that stuff? I mean, _mature?"_

I slam the door shut.

I walk back to my room. Cleaning up my mess, putting away everything it was before. I crawled into bed, feeling ten cinderblocks on my shoulders. As I began to drift of to bed. My door began to rattle erratically.

It jolted me up. Oh shit, that must be Larxene.

As I opened the door, I was face with nothing, but a darkness, until I fell arms wrap my legs. I heard crying, or wailing or something that sounded like it was a dying cat.

Roxas.

My dress was beginning to get wet as he rubbed his face onto it. Large gulps of breath, and blubbering was all I heard.

I kneel down, pushing him back slightly. I wipe his face with the end of shirt, and I asked what was wrong.

I sigh, "Was it the boogey man again?"

"It's called heartless!" He corrects, but he gulp a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry." He mumbles.

"For what?" combing his hair back, he relaxed under my touch.

"For laughing at your drawing, and ripping that one drawing," he says, then shoves a piece of paper to me. I grabbed it gingerly, inspecting the said object, and I felt something bubble in my stomach. "It was wrong, and stupid for me to do. I'll nevah do it again!"

Although it now barely recognized the boy I was infatuated with, but I could see the effort in fixing all the ripped part with tape or glue. Placing the picture on the dresser, I grab Roxas's hands. I felt the stickiness, and some roughness on them, and a tiny paper cut. I kissed it.

"C'mon, lets go wash your hands and fix em' up with a bandage, and back to bed for you." I instruct, pushing him out the door.

"Are you gonna read me a story…and kiss me goodnight?" He asks shyly.

I giggle softly at him, swinging out hands together, "Mmmhmm, I'll even wait till you start snoring."

"I don't snore!" He says, shooting me a look, "Only pigs do that."

"Does that really make a difference?"

"Nami!"

.

.

.

 _AFTER_

Oh God.

Oh GOOOD.

How did I end up in this predicament? One moment I was cleaning my tiny little studio, and bam, here I am. In some crappy indie coffee shop, that seemed to only play some waif-hipster bullshit music.

My eyes begin to trail over to cash register, where Roxas was chatting amicably with the cashier, and I could see a blush starting on her exposed neck.

Oh Lord, I couldn't blame her. Puberty has done good on that boy, and especially that back—

No way.

No way am I checking out Roxas.

I sounded like some desperate cougar. Holy crap. Is Roxas even legal?

As he returned with our drinks, small smile on his face, and the tiny dimples I used to poke when he was younger where still there.

"How's life?" I blurt out.

He snorts, biting a smile, "Well, it's been better. Pay the rent, study, oh and I got a flirting discount on that coffee." He winked at me.

I shake his head, disapproving of his actions, but I smiled anyways, interested for more, "So you're a lawyer now, huh?"

He ducked his head, almost like he was embarrassed, "Well, it ain't the scientist you were hoping for."

Instinctively, I almost placed my hand on top of his. To clear my mistake, I grab a spoon of sugar into my coffee. "You're grown up now, which is weird to see by the way. You were a lot smaller back then."

"Nami, I'm just twenty," He says, shrugging his shoulders, "I'm not that old."

Indeed, I thought. It was young, too young, and too painfully young to be practicing law.

"Well, I guess that makes you the youngest one out there?" I say, "A lawyer, I mean."

His hands wafts into the air, shaking his head at the same time, "Naw, there's this seventeen year old kid I had back then in grad school."

"Well, whatever, then," I giggle behind my hand, "I'm still proud of you."

His eyes seem to widen, and his body going rigid. I felt self-conscious under his stare. "Wh-what?"

"What is that?" He asks. Pointing at me, with a pointed glare. "Are you married?"

I sigh, stirring the cup with my spoon watching the black slowly turn brown, "I guess, well, I'm divorced."

"You got married?" he says, shock in his voice.

I glare at him sideways, "Is that so hard to believe?"

"No, no actually," He says, shaking his head, then looked up eyes flickering like a flame, "I've always thought I'd end up being you're number one guy."

"Like a crush?"

He licks his lips, not staring at me directly, probably focusing on my nose, "Like I wanted to give you a ring."

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline, eyes as wide as those of a goldfish. "A ring?"

"Nami, were you really that dense?" He asks incredulously, forgetting his confession, "I've always had a huge crush on you, I was kinda in love with you. It was embarrassingly obvious. "

"Wait, wait, this all too sudden," I twitch my hands under the table, "Roxas, you do know that there's a like a six year gap between us right? I mean you're not even old enough to drink, and —"

It was slow, but I could see the pink tingeing his body, starting from his ears to his cheeks, down to his entire neck. "No! I'm over it. Really I am!"

"Uhm!"

Both our heads swivel to the girl next to us, waving awkwardly with her hand, Roxas got up from his seat, kissing her cheek. "Sorry, uh, Nami, this is Xion."

Xion.

 _"Roxas, she's a sweet girl."_

 _"Too sweet, Like I'd get diabetes."_

"Hello," I greet politely, shaking her hand graciously. She was no longer the awkwardly gangly little girl with the weird haircut, but now she blossomed into something so beautiful, her curves were filled nicely, a large chest, and I instinctively cover my own with a sweater.

"You must be Naminé. I heard a lot about you," gesturing to the boy next to her, "I mean, it's an honor to meet you. From what I gathered, you're the main reason why this fella is what he is today, you're amazing." She gushed.

I felt attacked with compliments, and so I did what I do, "Oh thank you, but I gotta go, I have a class to teach!" leaving a dollar on the table, I left the shop, ignoring Roxas's calls.

Why do I feel so heartbroken?

Get a grip, Naminé.

You don't need a man. And certainly not a boy.


End file.
